


reach the stars

by disgruntledkittenface



Category: BBC Radio 1 RPF, One Direction (Band)
Genre: (Nick and Aimee are social drinkers and drink in a scene where Niall isn't present), (tipsy Nick is life), AU where no one has earrings, American AU, Established Relationship, Kim's this is a niall thirst blog tag was very helpful, M/M, Mentions Of Larry - Freeform, Niall is sunshine, Nick is pretty self critical re diet and exercise just fyi, Remix, Rich Boy Nick, Smut, a companion of sorts to Own the Scars, healthy communication is my kink, mentions of OT5, mentions of grief/grieving, recovering alcoholic/sober Niall, set in Spring 2021, soft dom Niall
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2019-12-02
Updated: 2019-12-02
Packaged: 2021-02-25 21:15:36
Rating: Mature
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 19,338
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/21652132
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/disgruntledkittenface/pseuds/disgruntledkittenface
Summary: “It’s just easy with him,” he says, tracing a finger over the Skinnygirl logo on the label of his wine. He loves that they still sacrifice their taste buds for the joke of buying it after all these years. “He’s so easy going, he can laugh things off, but he’s not, like, a pushover. Like one time, I tried to order for him at a restaurant and he was so smooth about interrupting and ordering himself. He didn’t make me feel like an asshole, you know? I don’t think the server even noticed. It wasn’t a big deal or a fight or anything like it would have been with–”“Louis,” Aimee finishes, tilting her head and watching him carefully. She’s the only one who really knows what a toll that relationship had taken on him. And not just the breakup, but how hard it had been for Nick to always feel like a consolation prize, some kind of runner up. Second best. Story of his fucking life.Until recently.Spring 2021. Four years after breaking up with Louis and moving to New York with his best friend Aimee, Nick runs into Niall and they start dating. When their relationship gets serious, Nick struggles to tell Niall how much he means to him.
Relationships: Nick Grimshaw/Niall Horan
Comments: 20
Kudos: 45





	reach the stars

**Author's Note:**

  * For [crinkle-eyed-boo (KimmieRocks)](https://archiveofourown.org/users/KimmieRocks/gifts).
  * Inspired by [Own the Scars](https://archiveofourown.org/works/13919727) by [crinkle-eyed-boo (KimmieRocks)](https://archiveofourown.org/users/KimmieRocks/pseuds/crinkle-eyed-boo). 



> Okay. This started as a joke. I don’t remember why, but about two and a half years ago when Kim was working on Own the Scars, I teased her that I was going to write a sequel spinning off Nick and Niall and it was going to be “smutty as fuck.” (Who am I kidding, I know the exact date, it was April 27, 2017.) Slowly it became a real idea, plotted out over a six-month relationship building to a rom com declaration of love outside Louis and Harry’s wedding. Reader, it was going to be epic. Then Own the Scars was published and, even though I knew Kim had something special, the reception was way more than we anticipated – it honestly felt like a phenomenon. And I started to feel hesitant about touching her/its legacy, in part because it seemed like maybe readers wouldn’t be rushing to hear about Nick’s happy ending. We sprinkled in backstory for him and I thought he was relatable and sympathetic in the end, but I get it – he was the complication, and he wasn’t always gracious about it. So I shelved the idea and we both moved on to other things, but neither of us forgot about it and the 50 pages of notes (and lookbooks for each character) gathered dust in my Google Docs. Until about four months ago, when I got the idea to write a little sliver of it for Kim’s birthday – this isn’t the fic I originally wanted to write, but I picked out one of the scenes she was most excited about and pulled ideas from other sections of my notes and goddamn it if this wasn’t incredibly satisfying to write. 
> 
> This fic may not be for everyone, and that’s okay – because it’s for Kim, who is always, always there for me. Whether it’s to let me be petty, to be my cheerleader and try to include me, or to listen when I’m having a hard time. She shows up. And in return, since I have somehow managed to get her invested in this most rare of pairs, here are 19k words of my horchata heart on a platter for you. Happy birthday, bitch. I love you.
> 
> (AND OKAY I KNOW THIS IS EARLY AF BUT I LITERALLY CANNOT LIE TO YOU ABOUT NOT WRITING FOR ONE MORE SECOND AND THERE’S SO MUCH CONTENT RIGHT NOW ANYWAY OUR LARENTS DON’T CARE ABOUT FREE TIME FOR READING)
> 
> Also! Thank you [ YesIsAWorld](https://archiveofourown.org/users/YesIsAWorld/pseuds/YesIsAWorld) for betaing and being so enthusiastic about this fic. I didn’t trust myself to tell anyone else about this because I was so sure I would copy Kim by mistake since I copy that bitch on everything, so your support meant a lot to me. 
> 
> One final note: You don’t need to have read Own the Scars to be able to follow everything in this fic, but like… you should read Own the Scars.

**I.**

“Well, _helloooooo-o,_ gorgeous.”

Nick fully intends to say hello in response like a normal person, but the combination of being winded after climbing three flights of stairs and the sight of Niall standing topless in the doorway to his apartment renders him momentarily mute.

He barely remembers the first time he saw Niall four years ago, it’s just a blur of bleached hair and skinny chicken legs play-wrestling Nick’s then boyfriend Louis to the ground in the art therapy room of their rehab facility. Nick thinks there was paint involved. It’s been two and a half months since he and Niall bumped into each other in a coffee shop on the Upper West Side and Nick still has trouble reconciling that image with the man before him. Grown up, filled out, and starting to smirk at how he’s struck Nick dumb.

The naturally brunette hair that Niall now sports is artfully mussed, presumably from taking off his top, and brings out the blue in his eyes in a completely different way than the bleached blond of a few years ago did. It’s a soft, light blue, warmed by hues of green in a way that reminds Nick of snorkeling on the Amalfi coast, but somehow still searing, like Niall can see straight through him. Strangely enough, the notion doesn’t scare him as much as he used to think it would.

Nick’s eyes travel down the arm that Niall’s propped above his head against the door frame, his stance almost cocky as he lets Nick drink him in. Niall’s muscles are more toned than really cut, but they’ve worked out together, so Nick has seen Niall put his deceptively slender arms to promising use. The smattering of hair on his chest is shaped almost like a heart, which Nick can’t let himself think about for too long or he’ll melt into a puddle on the floor. Instead he lets his eyes drift to Niall’s soft tummy, the little pooch that Nick would find intolerable on his own body but is obsessed with on Niall’s. He’d never tell this to another living soul, but the small belly is just so _cute._ And the skin there is so smooth and velvety, he can’t resist finding excuses to touch Niall there, whether it’s tickling or spooning.

It’s his legs, though, that really get Nick. Ordinarily he would have been able to form some kind of greeting by now, his verbal skills have always been excellent, even in the face of such unfair attractiveness. But those _legs._ Slim but muscular thighs leading down to toned, defined calves, one currently crossed in front of the other, covered in just the right amount of light hair. Encased in light gray sweatpants that taper off below the knee like capris, they’re simultaneously ridiculous and sinful. Nick’s ultimate goal in life is to have those legs wrapped around his waist, but since he’s still standing in the hallway, he can’t let his mind linger there either.

He sweeps his eyes up and down Niall one more time, revising his earlier assessment from near cockiness to easy confidence. It’s one of the things Nick admires most about him, the way Niall is always comfortable in his own skin, no matter the situation. Nick puts up a good front, a decent imitation that fools most people, but Niall is the real deal and sometimes Nick can’t quite understand what Niall sees in him. But when their eyes meet, he knows the warmth there is genuine. Niall is happy to see him, happy to stand there as long as Nick wants to ogle him. 

And as much as he’d be glad to stand there ogling him forever, Nick forces himself to proceed, clearing his throat and shrugging a shoulder in an attempt at nonchalance before finally speaking. 

“Hi.”

Congratulating himself on the return of his excellent verbal skills, he swans past a cackling Niall into the apartment. He stops short almost immediately, as a large bed thoroughly covered in decorative pillows takes up most of the room in what Nick is now realizing is a studio apartment. Recovering quite nicely if he does say so himself, Nick turns on his heel and smiles prettily at his relatively new boyfriend, who’s closing the door behind them.

“Hi,” he says again, lifting the strap of his bag over his head and setting it on the floor, definitely not sparing a thought for the calf leather trim. He smooths down the front of his sweater, feeling a bit overdressed.

“Hi,” Niall parrots back, taking a step to close the distance between them and kissing Nick on the cheek like a proper gentleman. To his great dismay, Nick’s face heats up as Niall’s stubble grazes his skin, but Niall doesn’t make fun of him, just throws a wink over his shoulder as he grabs a t-shirt off the edge of the bed and walks toward a small kitchenette. “Caught me changing, you got here sooner than I expected.”

“Took the car service,” Nick admits, sitting gingerly on the corner of the bed and side-eyeing the excessive amount of pillows. He looks up as Niall walks back into the room, carrying a large white paper bag, and lifts his eyebrows. “Dinner?”

“Dinner,” Niall nods, handing the bag to Nick before stepping toward the head of the bed. He starts moving several pillows to the floor, stacking them in the corner. “Stopped on my way home. You know, I can’t believe you’ve lived in New York this long and you’re still too lazy to figure out the subway.”

“I was going to try it tonight,” Nick starts, cradling the delicious-smelling paper bag that surely holds something decadent and artery-clogging. “I was all set to figure out which letter connecting where, but I couldn’t help myself. I started thinking about those legs of yours and I had to get here as fast as I could.”

“Did I say lazy?” Niall asks, pausing in his pillow removal and putting a hand on his heart. “I meant efficient.”

Nick flaps a hand at Niall until he comes over and leans down to kiss Nick – a real kiss this time, albeit a quick one, leaving Nick to chase after Niall’s thin, soft lips – before he straightens up and snaps his fingers. 

“Plates! And napkins,” he declares, turning back to the kitchenette. “You want something besides water? I bought some of those mini cans of Diet Coke, I know how much you like the stuff.”

“Yeah,” Nick replies, his voice strangled. He clears his throat and nods. “Yeah, thanks.”

And that… well, that shouldn’t be a big deal. It’s not a big deal. Nick keeps his fridge fully stocked for Niall’s whims, never sure if he’ll be in the mood for an Arnold Palmer or the truly disgusting orange soda he loves. Once he even asked if Nick had coconut water on hand. (So now he makes it a point to.) But Niall’s been on some kick about artificial sweetener lately and how much worse it is for you than actual sugar – which, what exactly he thinks is in that orange soda, Nick’s not sure because it’s definitely not cane sugar – but he still bought Diet Coke especially for Nick.

And, well… that’s kind of a big deal. To Nick, anyway.

Before Nick’s eyes have a chance to get misty from the offer of a diet beverage, Niall strides back into the room, hands laden with plates and drinks. He juts his chin toward Nick.

“Scoot back,” he says, sitting at the head of the bed and setting things down. “Make yourself comfortable, stay awhile. I got you a corned beef sandwich, and we can split the fries.”

“Did you go to that place where they yell at you?” Nick asks eagerly as he kicks off his boots. He knew there was something delicious in this bag, and since it’s already a done deal, he doesn’t even need to bother lamenting his diet. “There goes my waistline.”

Well, not much anyway.

“Yeah, they’re hilarious,” Niall laughs, unbothered. He takes the bag from Nick and plates their food, handing over Nick’s serving and aspartame-filled drink of choice once he’s settled on the bed. “And shut up, your waistline is perfect and you know it.”

Nick makes a face and then ducks as he gets a steak fry tossed at him in return. They fall into a companionable silence as they eat, both starving after long days at work, and Nick decides the elevated sodium levels are worth it for how good the corned beef is. He looks around the apartment as he chews, trying to be subtle about it even though Niall always sees right through him.

There’s not much space to take in. Nick’s terrible at estimating things like square footage but he’d guess the studio is less than 1,000 total between the bedroom and his glance at the tiny kitchenette. Hopefully there’s a bathroom somewhere down that hallway, too. But what little room Niall does have is tastefully decorated in neutrals with a few splashes of navy. There’s a large poster of Frank Sinatra opposite the bed, and a couple guitars stacked neatly against the wall. The decor is modest, almost sparse, but somehow still warm. A bit less eclectic than Nick’s own taste, but the apartment feels welcoming and inviting, much like its resident. 

Nick hasn’t made his way into any of the picture frames on the bookshelf and nightstand yet, but he recognizes most of the faces, either from his own regrettable past or Niall’s stories. There’s one of Niall’s gran as a young woman that reminds Nick of his mother, like they attended the same finishing school or something. He studiously focuses on that one and the one of Niall with his hulking friend Bressie next to it, not in the mood for the beaming faces of Niall’s closest friends in the rest of the frames.

The only thing not in its place is the suitcase on the floor in front of the closet. The closet door is open, showing Niall’s clothes in neat stacks and on hangers organized by color. Nick’s willing to bet the rest of the apartment is equally as tidy and well organized, and thank god. Nick is a bit of a neat freak or house proud, depending on which of his friends you ask, and he likes that Niall seems to be a match for him in that respect. He won’t be driven crazy by dirty coffee mugs strewn about and clothes all over the floor like when he was with–

“Louis,” Niall says, his mouth half full, shaking his head at his phone in his hand. He swallows, and explains, “He keeps texting me about his bracket. He doesn’t know shit about basketball, but he wants to win the pool in his department anyway. Idiot.” 

The silver lining to the simultaneous mention of Nick’s most significant ex and the March Madness… well, _madness_ he’s been trying to avoid all day is that he loses his appetite for the fatty food in front of him. He sets the rest of his sandwich down and forces a small smile as he grabs his Diet Coke to take a swig. He studies the Sinatra poster, wishing it were in color so he could compare Frank’s blue eyes to Niall’s.

“What’s wrong?” Niall asks, tossing his phone aside. “You stare any harder at old Frank there, you’re going to burn a hole in him, and I’m kind of attached to that poster.”

“Nothing,” Nick says automatically, taking another sip. He really does love Diet Coke. 

Niall remains unconvinced from the looks of him, his eyebrows raised and arms crossed over his chest. Whatever, it’s fine, Nick can talk about feelings. This isn’t scary or uncomfortable for him at all. He sighs. 

“Just… everyone at work was talking about their brackets all day, couldn’t escape it.” Nick pauses, running a hand through his hair. “Greg wouldn’t shut up about UNC’s chances, I guess they’re having a good year, and it just… I was just thinking about my dad all day, so.”

“Oh,” Niall says softly, uncrossing his arms and reaching a hand out to stroke Nick’s knee. “Oh, fuck, I’m sorry. I knew your dad was into college basketball, and I just forgot. I’m sorry.”

Nick can’t help smiling at that. _Into college basketball._ Pete Grimshaw grew up in the Triangle and never left after his own days at UNC, living and breathing the Tar Heels basketball program as an alum and annual donor until he passed away over a year ago. Nick can almost hear the scoffing sound that he would have made at that understatement.

“It’s okay,” Nick says, scrubbing a hand over his face. “I get that people don’t think about it, it doesn’t mean the same thing to anyone but me. It’s just been a lot lately, like the constant reminders.”

“Makes sense,” Niall murmurs, taking Nick’s hand and toying with his fingers. “I’ll try to remember, not spring it on you like that again.”

“Thanks,” Nick chokes out, unable to meet Niall’s eyes. And here he thought he was going to cry over the Diet Coke gesture. What is this man doing to him?

“You never told me how you ended up at UVA,” Niall says casually, tugging on Nick’s hand until he looks up. “Your dad didn’t insist on Chapel Hill for you?”

“He did for Andy and Jane,” Nick replies with a wry smile. “But I’m the late-in-life baby of the family, remember? He never had as much as energy for me. Especially since I’m not athletic, never wanted to shoot hoops in the backyard. And I was obsessed with pop music, while he wouldn’t have known who Beyoncé was if she came and sat in his living room. I think the clincher was when I voluntarily woke up before dawn to watch the royal wedding with my mother.”

“Which one?” Niall asks, a smile tugging at the corner of his mouth. He squeezes Nick’s hand.

“Both, actually,” Nick answers, although he’d been referring to Will and Kate. He prefers Prince Harry anyway, always identified with the spare more than the heir. He blows out a breath before continuing, “I just don’t think he expected much but quiet rebellion from me after awhile. Now if I’d applied to Duke, that would have been a different story.”

Niall cackles and Nick’s shoulders relax at the realization that either his deflection attempt worked or Niall’s just electing to let him off the hook.

“Come on,” Niall says, pushing Nick’s plate toward him on the bed. “Finish your dinner. I’m trying to fatten you up.”

It is a really good sandwich. It would just be wasteful not to finish it.

“There we go,” Niall laughs as Nick takes another bite. “I won’t rest ’til you have a tummy on you, don’t think I haven’t noticed how you can’t keep your hands off mine. I know that’s why you like to be the big spoon.”

And that’s just outrageous, and simply untrue. Nick is tall, he _has_ to be the big spoon. He opens his mouth to protest, but Niall shushes him.

“Here, take a couple more fries, too,” he says, shoveling food onto Nick’s plate. 

Nick rolls his eyes, but obliges, eating the delicious fattening food until he feels full while Niall looks on and clucks in approval like a little old grandmother. Oh, well. Nick can just go to the gym twice a day while Niall’s out of town to make up for it. He’ll need something to occupy his time for the next three days. 

“No, wait,” Nick says, dusting his hands off as Niall gathers up the detritus of their dinner. “Here, let me take that.”

“Thanks, baby.” Niall grins and hands over the plates, dirty napkins and empty soda cans. “Trash is on the right in the kitchen, and you can just set the plates in the sink if you don’t mind.”

Nick blushes as he takes everything from Niall and covers the ground to the kitchenette in about two seconds. Niall throws “baby”s around like confetti and Nick is too embarrassed to admit he fucking loves it. Blushing and promptly exiting the room seems to be the method of handling it that works best for him. 

“Tell me again where you’re staying,” Nick says as he walks back into the bedroom to the sight of Niall hauling the suitcase off the floor. He walks around the side of the bed and sits, idly surrounding himself with pillows as Niall guffaws at him. “Come on, I can’t remember.”

Niall shakes his head as he unzips the suitcase. “Liam found an Airbnb in the Berkshires. They’ve already been there a couple of days, they keep texting me photos.”

“The Berkshires,” Nick exclaims from his makeshift pillow fort. “Oh my god, what if it’s near Blue Stone Manor? What if you run into Dorinda?” 

Niall pauses, quirking a brow at Nick. “Who or what, pray tell, is a Dorinda?”

“Oh my god,” Nick sighs, rubbing his temples with his fingers. “I’ve taught you nothing. When you’re done packing, we’re watching the _Real Housewives of New York,_ and that is final. I can’t believe I’ve done nothing to prepare you for a trip to the Berkshires. That is a tragic oversight, we must remedy it immediately.”

“Okay,” Niall shrugs goodnaturedly, returning to his suitcase.

Nick watches as he starts to fill it with the basics, underwear and colorful socks. He’s so easy going. But organized. And he lets Nick be Nick in a way that not many people outside of his small clique of friends do. To distract himself from the imminent possibility that he’s already a little bit in love with him, Nick coughs and wracks his brain for another question about Niall’s long weekend away. 

Unfortunately, only one comes to mind.

“So everyone is already there?” Nick asks, trying to keep his tone light. Casual. “Liam, Zayn… and Louis and Harry?”

“Yeah,” Niall says easily, turning back to the closet and considering his sweaters. “Tomorrow’s the final phase of Operation Get the Band Back Together, they’re picking me up at the bus station when I get in.”

“And you have an Airbnb?” Nick asks, wrinkling his nose. “There has to be at least one good hotel up there. Might even be a spa or something.”

“But you see, Nicholas,” Niall says, wagging a finger at him. “Then we wouldn’t be able to cook family dinners. That’s a tradition.”

“Are you going to do your famous unseasoned chicken?” Nick asks innocently, ducking when Niall tosses a baseball cap at him. “Hey! I thought you had a sense of humor about yourself!”

“Well, excuse me for liking chicken that actually tastes like chicken,” Niall says, hands on his hips in mock offense. “Nah, don’t think Bender’s gonna let me get away with that, though. Harry probably packed their spice rack.”

Ah, yes. Good old Harry. Nick hugs a pillow as he watches Niall arrange clothes in the suitcase, stifling the urge to make some kind of Boy Scout preparedness joke. He doesn’t actually bear that much ill will to his former rival, not anymore, but old habits die hard and all that.

“So all five of you cook?” Nick asks instead. “Even Louis?”

“Even Louis,” Niall confirms, foregoing the nickname that Nick has forgotten the origins of. “He’s not bad, but I think Harry’s always going to be the chef of that family. They usually do the entree, then Zayn and I split up the sides, and Liam does dessert, which usually means buying brownies.”

“Always liked that Liam,” Nick laughs, conjuring up an image of friendly brown puppy dog eyes. “Think we’re still Facebook friends, actually. Is he still with, um…”

“Cheryl? Nah,” Niall answers, rolling his eyes. “See, Liam’s problem is that he didn’t get hot until after high school. Now some people, like yours truly, can handle that gracefully.”

“Here, here,” Nick chimes in, thinking of the stubborn extra layer of padding he’d finally managed to lose the summer after high school graduation. As he recalls, he handled his own glow up with aplomb, although his best friend Aimee might have a thing or two to say about that. 

“But Liam,” Niall continues, shaking out a hoodie and holding it up to consider, “he always ends up with the kind of girl that never used to give him the time of day. And it’s like he can’t believe they actually want to go out with him, so he jumps at the chance and then he doesn’t realize until it’s too late that they’re totally wrong for each other and then it ends in disaster. Same thing, every time.”

“Poor Liam,” Nick sighs, shaking his head. “Poor hot, stupid Liam.” 

“I’ve tried telling him,” Niall says, opening the drawer to his nightstand to look for something. “But no, doesn’t listen to me. Zayn said he called off sick from work for three days after this breakup. Ridiculous.”

“Is Zayn still pining for him?” Nick asks curiously. Zayn is the only one of Niall’s core friend group back in Boston that Nick doesn’t know, he can barely remember meeting him. From what Niall’s told him, sworn to boyfriend confidentiality, Zayn has always struggled with anxiety, although it’s pretty well managed now with treatment, and after figuring out he identifies as asexual and biromantic, Liam kind of became a safe person for him to crush on while he wasn’t ready to date.

“Actually,” Niall says brightly, straightening up. “Zayn just started seeing someone, a model he met when he worked on some photoshoot as a favor. Gigi something. They’ve only been out a couple of times, but he seems excited about it. It’s kind of sweet.” 

“That’s awesome,” Nick says, mildly surprised to find that he really means it. He’s weirdly happy for this person who’s still just kind of an idea to him. 

“I’m sure Bender and Harry have been giving him the third degree,” Niall remarks, eyeing the contents of the almost full suitcase. “They’re such gossipy busybodies, I swear.”

“How, um,” Nick starts, faltering when Niall looks up at him. He forces himself to ask the question, it’s going to hang over him like a dark cloud all night if he doesn’t. “How do you think it’s going to be? This is the first time you’re seeing them since, we, uh…”

“Started dating,” Niall finishes for him, re-folding a t-shirt. “Dunno, I don’t think it’ll be awkward, right? I already told them about you, they know we’re together.”

“So you don’t think they’ll give _you_ the third degree?” Nick asks casually, tugging at a loose thread in his skinny jeans. He rests his head against one of the many pillows, looking toward Niall and trying to pretend that he hasn’t been thinking about this for a week.

“Let ’em try,” Niall shrugs, closing the flap of the suitcase and setting it on the floor. “Listen, I love them like brothers. They’re my family. And yeah, they’re going to be curious about you – maybe more Harry than Louis, Lou said it’s like you guys dated in a different life, he’s a different person now. But Harry, he’s the champion grudge holder. You know that kind of angry frog face he makes?”

Nick does indeed know the exact expression Niall is talking about, and he laughs as the comment takes the sting out of Louis’ words. They’re true for him too, but still. They dated for almost two years, that should count for something. Even if Louis _is_ engaged to someone else who even Nick knows is his soulmate.

“It’s not that I don’t care about their feelings,” Niall continues, reaching over to run his fingers through Nick’s hair. “That’s why I told them about you as soon as we had our first date that you didn’t know was a date–”

“Hey,” Nick protests, swatting at Niall. “Who invites someone to hot yoga as a first date?” He taps his finger against his lips. “Hm, let’s see, what’s a perfect first date activity? Oh, I know, I’ll make them exercise but not just exercise, the room has to be excessively hot so I can see them sweat in an entirely unsexy way, now there’s a good first date.”

“I seem to remember that date going pretty well,” Niall says with a wink. He grabs his laptop from the nightstand and tosses it on the bed. “But I don’t want you to worry about whether they’re, like, okay with us being together, alright?”

“Why not?” Nick asks quietly, suddenly running out of energy to act like he hasn’t been worried about this. “You said it, they’re basically your family. If they’re not okay with it–”

“Then they’re just gonna have to get over it,” Niall says matter of factly, sitting on the bed. “And if they love me, they will. End of story.”

Nick turns that over in his head. Logically, that’s what he thought Niall would say. But a small voice in the back of his head has been nagging him non-stop, the slim possibility that Niall might end this before it really has a chance to begin if his friends aren’t completely okay with it. 

“Come on, baby,” Niall says, gently nudging his side. “Stop worrying. I seem to recall you promising to educate me on something called a Dorinda. Here, pull it up on the laptop, I’m gonna go grab some water.”

“Kiss,” Nick demands, pursing his lips and tilting his chin up. He really wasn’t worried. Not much, anyway. But the reassurance is just, well… it’s nice. 

Niall laughs but obliges, pressing a sweet, lingering kiss to Nick’s lips before shuffling off the bed and heading toward the kitchenette.

“Want another Diet Coke?” Niall calls over his shoulder before opening the refrigerator door and bending down. 

“Yeah, please!” Nick calls back, tearing his eyes from what he can see of Niall’s ass back to the laptop screen and navigating to Hulu. He steeples his hands, pressing his fingers against his lips as he considers which season of _Real Housewives of New York_ to put on. The Berkshires trips started in earnest in season seven (as entertaining as Ramona throwing a wine glass at Kristen had been, Nick doesn’t really count those episodes). He has his pick of at least five trips if he recalls correctly, spanning multiple episodes per season. It’s a big decision. He’s still contemplating it when Niall walks back in the room and hands him a cold mini can of Diet Coke.

“Big decision, huh?” Niall asks, settling next to Nick and plucking an extra pillow from between them to tuck behind his head. “Just go with your gut. We have all night, I’m not going anywhere.”

Nick’s heart does a funny thing just then, if he didn’t know better, he would say it fluttered at Niall’s words. But he does know better, hearts don’t just flutter at perfect boyfriends being all perfect and boyfriendy, so he concentrates on selecting the season eight episode that he considers definitive Berkshires content, and a personal fave.

“Get ready,” he says, balancing the laptop on his lap and tilting the screen before sitting back. “Your whole life is about to change.”

Niall nods seriously, eyes on the opening credits on screen. “See you on the other side.”

Not that Nick had much time to anticipate, but their mini marathon goes better than he could have hoped for. At each passive-aggressive dig and outright insult on screen, Niall turns to him with wide eyes and grabs his thigh in a familiar mix of horror and delight. They cackle at the Wives’ antics and Niall listens when Nick gives much-needed – in his opinion, anyway – context for different scenes and relationships. They’ve already watched three episodes by the first time Niall yawns, trying to hide it behind his hand.

“Sorry,” he says sheepishly, turning his head on his pillow to smile at Nick. It doesn’t do funny things to Nick’s heart, that slow, sleepy smile. “Got up early today, went for a run with Bressie before work.”

“Yeah?” Nick bites his lip, thinking about Niall carving out time for him before his trip. 

“Yeah,” Niall confirms with another yawn. He rubs his eyes, and looks mildly more awake. “Hey, um…” 

He trails off as Nick scratches at his tummy, his face breaking into a grin as the light touch turns into a tickle. He stills Nick’s hand after a moment. 

“Thanks for coming over tonight,” Niall finishes, linking their hands together. “I know watching me pack wasn’t the most exciting date, but I really wanted to see you before I left.”

“Oh, I...” Nick’s mouth goes dry in the face of Niall’s sincerity, and he swallows to buy himself a moment and make sure he can speak properly. “Yeah, of course. Was no problem.” 

“Can you stay?” Niall asks softly, his voice barely loud enough for Nick to hear.

“Yeah, I…” Nick interrupts himself to lean in and kiss Niall. He can’t help it, there’s a sleepy, soft boyfriend snuggled up to him in bed. He has to kiss him, just quickly, before laying himself bare. “Um, I’m… well, I’m sort of embarrassed to show you.”

“Show me what?” Niall asks, quirking a brow and looking Nick up and down. “Is it laundry day or something? You can borrow whatever you want.”

“No, no,” Nick laughs, sitting up and scooting down the bed. He grabs his bag and turns back to Niall, who’s sitting up. “Here, look, I actually, um, planned for this?”

He pulls the zippers down the sides of the tiny Louis Vuitton trunk-shaped bag and Niall peers inside as Nick holds it open to show that he managed to fit a folded pair of boxer briefs, his phone charger, a toothbrush, contacts case and mini bottle of solution, and the case for his glasses in the small space next to his wallet and phone. Beaming, Niall looks up at Nick.

“Efficient,” Niall says approvingly. “I should have had you pack for me, instead of lounging around watching.” 

“Right,” Nick laughs, pulling his supplies out of his bag. “I’ll be your little housewife, get your bags packed properly before your business trips.”

Before he has time to panic – did he seriously just casually joke about being married, what is wrong with him – Niall belly laughs and points at the paused episode on the laptop.

“As long as you’re not one of those Housewives,” he says, standing and stretching his arms above his head. “What do you say, get ready for bed and then one more episode before lights out?”

 _Lights out._ Nick shakes his head fondly. His boyfriend is such a dweeb.

“Sounds perfect,” Nick agrees, plucking up his toiletries and following Niall into the bathroom. 

They brush their teeth together, Niall with his eyes closed the whole time, and Nick watching his reflection like a normal person. He smothers the urge to reach out and tickle that unsuspecting tummy again, concentrating on his own teeth instead. While he takes out his contacts, Niall heads to the kitchenette to program the coffeemaker for the next morning. Good man. Then he stops back in the bathroom and grabs a couple of packets of under-eye masks from the cabinet behind the mirror, the type Nick always forgets to bring on long plane rides, with a question on his face.

“If those raised eyebrows are asking if I want to use the under-eye masks,” Nick says in a husky voice to Niall’s reflection, “the answer is always going to be yes, darling.”

“Cool, we’ll have a mini spa night,” Niall says, grinning as he rips open one of the packets. “Darling.”

Niall makes him stand still with his eyes closed as he applies the small semi circular patches beneath Nick’s eyes and Nick finds the simple intimacy of it leaves him a bit breathless. He returns the favor and then follows Niall back to the bedroom, now dimly illuminated by the lamp on the nightstand.

“Do you mind taking the left side?” Niall asks, arranging pillows. So many pillows. “I’m kind of particular.”

“I can see that,” Nick remarks, nodding toward the stack of pillows on the floor. “I’m sorry, I have to ask, what is with all the pillows?”

“Can’t a man appreciate some home decor?” Niall bristles, gesturing around the room. “I have a Pinterest, so what? When I change the sheets each week and make up the bed, I always set up the pillows all nice. But you’re not meant to sleep with the decorative ones, so I stack them, and then I just keep the six main ones on the bed.”

“The six main ones?” Nick asks in disbelief. Who is this maniac he’s chosen to date?

“You tell me tomorrow morning whether or not this bed is comfortable,” Niall retorts, stripping down to his boxers before crawling into bed and pulling the covers up, the mixture of sexiness and cuteness almost too much for Nick to bear. “Come on, stop arguing and get in. Maybe give us a show first, you’re not going to sleep in jeans and a sweater, are you?”

He crosses his arms behind his head and lies back, waiting to see what Nick will do next, the gleam of a challenge in his eye. And, well, Nick can be an insecure mess at the best of times, but he’s never backed down from a challenge. 

And he certainly doesn’t intend to start now. 

He decides to get the least sexy portion of his strip tease over with first and tugs his socks off, then he straightens up to pull his sweater over his head. The wolf whistle whistle that Niall lets out as he starts to fold the sweater does not make him blush, _thank you very much._ They repeat the same pull off-whistle-fold process for the plain t-shirt that Nick wore under the sweater and then he drops his hands to waist of his jeans, looking up at Niall from under his lashes as he pops the button. Despite the fact that he must look ridiculous with hydrating patches under his eyes, like a panda particularly concerned with their skin care routine, Niall’s gaze is still heated as he watches Nick slowly slide the jeans down his admittedly long legs. Turning slightly away as he folds so that Niall can ogle his ass in the black briefs he’s purposely worn, Nick takes his time, smoothing the fabric slowly before bending at the waist to set the jeans on top of his small pile of clothes.

He fishes for his glasses in his bag before standing up, unable to help his smirk as Niall watches him climb into bed and get cozy under the covers. It is a pretty comfortable bed, but you won’t catch him telling Niall that. 

Six main pillows, honestly.

“That was a good show, baby,” Niall says, leaning over to kiss Nick softly. “Have I told you how good you look in your glasses?”

“Only every time you’ve seen me in them,” Nick replies, biting his lip as he navigates to the next episode on the laptop. “It’s like you’re obsessed with me or something.”

“It is,” Niall says mildly, turning his attention to the preview image on the screen. “Wait, are they in costume? Is this a costume party?”

“A _murder mystery_ costume party,” Nick answers smugly. “The Roaring Twenties. This show has everything.”

They cuddle into each other, watching the show, and Niall’s reactions are punctuated by yawns until Nick becomes certain that Niall won’t last until the end of the episode. He carefully removes Niall’s under-eye masks, then his own, and reaches over him to set the used strips on the nightstand before turning the lamp off. Now that the room is darker, Niall keeps blinking sleepily, his eyes gradually staying closed longer and longer until finally he’s asleep, making adorable snuffly sounds. Nick doesn’t want the volume to disturb him so he exits the show and turns the laptop off, and then double checks the alarm is set on his phone. As much as he’s going to miss him, he doesn’t want Niall to miss his bus in the morning. 

He rests his head against his pillow – his one pillow – and turns on his side, facing Niall, watching him smack his lips in his sleep and thinking about the first time they’d spent the night together. It was a night like tonight, their first Netflix and chill, but at Nick’s apartment with a normal amount of pillows. The trick of trying to explain that he has a thing about waking up alone, making it clear that he means it while still downplaying the trauma of his first childhood memory being forgotten sleeping in the backseat of the car, is one Nick’s never quite mastered. Guys either tease him and then forget, or go the other way completely and fawn over him, which Nick quite likes if he’s got a cold or papercut or something, but not over this. Niall had kissed him – their first – and told Nick he wasn’t getting rid of him that easily. 

Of course it had been different with Niall. Everything’s been different with him, right from the moment he’d recognized Nick at that coffeeshop, even though neither of them were bottle blondes anymore. Niall’s blue eyes had been so kind, his greeting so enthusiastic despite the tension in the air the last time he’d seen him, that something in Nick had cracked open and he’d spent the next hour huddled away in a corner with Niall, confiding in him about his grief and listening, really listening, as Niall told him about his fractured relationship with his parents and his sobriety. It had felt like a miracle when Niall asked for his number, let alone when he had used it. Fuck’s sake, he’d done hot yoga for Niall. Brought him to Sunday brunch with his friends right away. He’s going to take the subway for this man eventually. He really is. 

It’s just been easy. Too easy. Nick keeps waiting for the other shoe to drop, always on high alert for it. The little voice in the back of his head had done a good job convincing him this weekend would be it, but their cozy night in has allayed his fears. For the most part anyway.

“Stop it,” Niall grunts, flailing a hand until it makes contact with Nick’s face. “You’re thinking too loud, I can’t sleep.”

“Sorry,” Nick whispers, picking up Niall’s hand and kissing the back of it. Niall smiles without opening his eyes and shuffles onto his side, tugging Nick’s hand. It’s not the most elegant invitation to spoon that Nick’s ever received, but he’ll take it, scooting forward and draping his arm around Niall’s side. He kisses Niall’s earlobe before laying his head on the pillow. “Good night.”

“Night, baby.”

********

Nick wakes up before his alarm, the curse of his employment at Z100. After four years of working his way up the ladder there, he’s almost turned into a morning person. He hugs Niall closer to him, inhaling his sleep warm scent. Almost. 

He does have to get up to pee, though, his bladder unfortunately full from all the Diet Coke. So he presses a lingering kiss to the back of Niall’s neck and finally drags himself from the (very comfortable) bed. After taking care of business and washing his hands, Nick checks his reflection and rubs the sleep from his eyes before heading back to the bedroom. He dismisses his alarm, figuring that Niall – definitely not a morning person – might appreciate a sweeter wakeup. 

Once he’s curled up behind him, Nick nuzzles into Niall’s neck before starting a trail of kisses along his skin. When his lips reach Niall’s earlobe, he lets his hand start to roam Niall’s torso. Unless he’s very much mistaken, the soft sigh that escapes Niall’s mouth means that Nick’s plan is working. The way Niall shudders once Nick’s thumb grazes his nipple means it’s definitely working.

“What’re you doing,” Niall breathes, shifting back in bed and pressing his body against Nick’s.

“Operation Sweet Wakeup,” Nick whispers next to his ear. “This is Phase One.”

He’s about to ask if this is okay; even with the clear signals that Niall’s giving him, he likes to check in verbally when he initiates something because they’ve been taking the physical stuff more slowly than Nick is used to. Before he can get another word out, though, Niall puts his hand over Nick’s and gently pushes it down until he’s stroking Niall’s semi-hard cock over his boxers. 

Niall moans softly, arching his back, and Nick’s own half-hard cock twitches against Niall’s ass.

“Feels good,” Nick murmurs against Niall’s neck. He’d meant for it to be a question but between the salt of Niall’s heated skin, their legs tangled together, the way Niall’s getting harder under his hand, it’s more of a statement. He takes Niall’s moan as a yes, though, and slips his hand inside his boxers. 

A freckle on Niall’s shoulder beckons his lips, so he kisses it over and over again as he works over Niall’s cock until he’s just mouthing wetly at the pale skin as Niall quivers beneath him. He’s letting out a steady stream of low moans that are music to Nick’s ears, and will surely feature as the soundtrack in his head every time he jerks off for at least a month. 

“Baby, can you–” 

A broken moan interrupts Niall’s request as Nick thrusts his pelvis forward, his erection lined up perfectly with the crack of Niall’s ass.

“Sorry, what?” Nick asks with a soft bite to Niall’s ear that causes him to growl.

“Make me _come,”_ Niall finishes, the words more a command than a request. 

Nick’s not sure when commands started to get his dick so hard, but it was probably around the first time he and Niall fooled around. Everything is different with him. Everything.

“Here,” he says soothingly, sliding Niall’s boxers down his thighs. In the process, the comforter slips down too, a happy accident that allows Nick to watch over Niall’s shoulder as he gets his hand back on him. “There we go, gonna make you come now, wanna see it, love watching you come…”

Niall whines low in his throat, snapping his hips forward as precome gathers at the tip of his cock.

“Love how wet you get, oh my god,” Nick continues, like the god of sex that he is. No one has ever appreciated his dirty talk skills the way Niall does. He rubs over the head with his thumb, smearing the precome around, before resuming his steady strokes. “Fucking love it so much, love seeing how much you love it when I get my hands on you.” 

“Love it,” Niall moans, arching his back. “Fuck, baby, I love it.”

He kisses Niall’s neck sloppily, aching to leave his mark on him, but resisting the urge. Nick is a virtual pillar of strength. He fondles Niall’s balls for a moment, reveling in how his breath catches before moving his hand to fly over Niall’s cock again. 

“Fucking dream about this, about making you come all over me, fucking love it…”

“Wanna come all over you,” Niall slurs, but before Nick can offer a change in position, Niall does just that, his body locking up as he comes all over Nick’s fist in thick spurts. 

Nick strokes him through it, kissing his hair as Niall relaxes against him, boneless.

“Fuck, that was good, baby,” Niall sighs, his eyes still closed. Nick’s not sure he’s even opened them yet this morning. “Do I have time for a shower?”

Personally, Nick thinks Niall has time for more pressing matters at hand – his neglected cock, for one – but he still glances at the clock on the nightstand.

“Yeah,” he answers, not so subtly shifting his erection against Niall’s hip. “You’ve got time.”

“Then come on me,” Niall says casually, like it’s not the hottest thing he could have said first thing in the morning. Nick hasn’t even had his coffee yet. Niall peeks at him with one eye. “Unless you’re not into it or–”

“I’m into it,” Nick practically shouts, possibly forfeiting that god of sex title but too turned on to care.

He scoots backward to whip his dick out so quickly that Niall lets out a little “oof” as his shoulder hits the mattress.

“Come on,” he instructs Nick, apparently unbothered and flicking his eyes up and down Nick’s body. “Straddle me.”

Nick hovers over Niall, kissing him hotly until he’s breathless. He pulls just far back enough to hiss, “You can’t just _say_ things,” before thrusting his tongue back in Niall’s mouth. It’s one of the best kisses of his life, morning breath be damned, as Niall brings his hands up to tilt Nick’s chin just so, taking control. He moans helplessly on top of him, not even realizing he’s basically humping Niall’s leg until Niall nips his bottom lip and lies back with a smirk.

“Come on, baby,” Niall says, that thrilling hint of authority in his voice. “You must be dying to come by now, and I want it right here.”

Through the haze of pleasure, Nick manages to follow Niall’s gaze down his body to where he’s patting his tummy with his hand. He nods dumbly, his hand moving to his cock without him having consciously decided it should, and he struggles to keep his eyes open as he starts stroking himself. It’s all too good, just on the line of too much, and it’s only a few moments before he starts to come, his cock pulsing as he paints Niall’s tummy in white streaks. 

Niall slowly drags a finger through the mess and lifts it to his mouth, swirling his tongue around the fingertip as if Nick is capable of handling that. He watches, scarcely breathing, as Niall does it again, his eye contact so intense that Nick shivers.

“Kiss,” Niall demands in a low voice, pursing his lips like Nick had the night before. Nick bends down and Niall leans up to kiss him first, gripping Nick’s hips with his hands. “You good, baby?”

“I’m perfect,” Nick says truthfully, as this is the best morning he’s had in a long time. Maybe years. “Ready to declare Operation Wakeup a success.”

“I thought it was Operation Sweet Wakeup,” Niall says, tapping his chin. “Wonder where I got that idea.”

“No clue,” Nick says with great dignity, climbing off the bed. He turns to see Niall stretching his arms over his head. “Come on, shower time.”

“Phase Two: shower,” Niall nods, swinging his legs over the side of the bed and standing. He gives Nick’s ass a light slap on his way to the bathroom, cackling as he looks over his shoulder and sees Nick’s pleased blush. 

Nick decides to forego a shower, he can take one after the gym and they don’t really have time for what might happen if they shower together anyway. So he stands at the sink, going through his morning routine as best he can in someone else’s bathroom, as Niall sings in the shower. He laughs when he realizes the song is from _The Sound of Music,_ the one about climbing every mountain, and Niall must hear him because he starts hamming it up and really belting it out. And Nick hadn’t realized he even wanted this, the domesticity, the intimacy, but he’s never been with someone who made it this much fun.

He shuffles out to the kitchen and pours their coffee, hoping he gets the ratio of milk just the way Niall likes it. He carries their coffees back to the bedroom where Niall thanks him for the “Virginia is for Lovers” mug with a kiss before they start getting dressed. Between sips of coffee, Nick pulls on the clean briefs he’d stashed in his bag and the jeans and t-shirt he’d worn the day before for his upcoming walk of shame. No, victory lap. Niall tosses a pair of socks at him, dark blue with a cherry design, and Nick shakes his head fondly before tugging them on. He gathers the few things that he’d brought over as Niall adds last-minute items to his suitcase: a book, his phone charger, toiletries. 

“Want some toast?” Niall asks, checking the time on his phone. “Eat it on the way?”

Nick nods, slurping the rest of his coffee and eyeing the neat closet. Hanging in plain sight is a large gray cardigan, the one Niall had worn to his apartment the night of their first sleepover. It’s so comfy looking is the thing. Cozy. And he bets it smells like Niall too, his cologne that’s a little woodsy with the merest hint of citrus like he’s the Brawny paper towel man or something. Nick’s taller than Niall, a little broader too, but he knows that sweater will fit him. He may or may not have tried it on while Niall was in the bathroom that night.

“Here you go,” Niall announces, walking out of the kitchenette with a piece of avocado toast in his hand for Nick. He takes a bite of his own slice before raising his eyebrows. “What?”

“What?” Nick asks, suddenly paranoid about his face looked like when Niall walked in. “I mean, thanks.”

“You look like you’re up to something,” Niall says, walking backwards down the hall. “Like you want something.”

“Well, you know,” Nick calls down the hallway, “yesterday was nice, but it’s supposed to be colder out this morning.”

Now that he’s made his mind up, nothing – not even Niall’s suspicious “Uh-huh,” from the bathroom – will deter him from his objective. 

“The sweater I wore over here last night is kind of thin, don’t you think? And I don’t have a coat.”

“Nicholas, darling,” Niall says, popping his head into the hallway. “I’ve got two minutes, cut to the chase.”

“Can I borrow this cardigan?” 

Just as Nick is congratulating himself on the casual, breezy tone he’d managed, Niall walks back in with a knowing smile. He takes the cardigan off its hanger and beckons to Nick, instructing him to twirl around and hold his arms out. Nick sighs as the heavy knit envelopes him, he _knew_ it would be this cozy.

“There we go,” Niall says, wrapping his arms around Nick’s waist. “You’ve got something to keep you warm.”

Nick pats Niall’s hands resting on the flat stomach he works so hard to maintain and they stand there together for a minute longer than they probably should. Niall has a bus to catch. Nick needs to go to the gym. He’ll be very busy, the three days will fly by. He’ll barely notice Niall is gone.

“Come on, baby,” Niall says gently, kissing his shoulder blade of all places. Nick almost breaks at the tenderness of the gesture. “Time to go.”

They gather their things and Nick doesn’t break. They kiss goodbye outside before heading in different directions and it’s fine. Nick is fine.

It’s only three days. 

**II.**

Nick opens the door only to be immediately leveled with a Look from his best friend, standing in the hallway with one hand on her hip and the other holding a paper bag with two bottles of wine clanking against each other.

“What,” Aimee demands, her bright eyes about to burn a whole through the cozy gray cardigan wrapped around Nick’s body, “is that?”

“Nothing,” Nick sniffs, clutching the lapels together as he stands aside to let her in. “A sweater.”

She throws another knowing look over her shoulder as she strides into the kitchen, and the jig is up before it began. Nick trails after her, tail between his legs. The oversized cardigan isn’t his style and Aimee has an encyclopedic knowledge of his wardrobe anyway, of course she was going to notice. But he’d fooled himself into believing she wouldn’t, helped along by the glass of wine he’d broken down and drank while he was waiting for her to arrive for a long overdue night in by themselves. 

“Grim,” she starts, turning from the drawer where he keeps the corkscrew. She hesitates, biting her lip, and busies herself opening both bottles of wine she’d brought. “Hold on, wine first. I brought you pinot.”

For the first time since they’d made plans, Nick wonders if he’s up for one of their traditional BFF nights. He hasn’t been drinking much lately since he’s been spending so much time with Niall, who’d been upfront right away about his sobriety and triggers. Lately brunches haven’t been quite so boozy, and he’s been stopping after one glass when they’re out to eat and Niall says he doesn’t mind if Nick orders wine. It’s night and day from his last relationship, when he didn’t know anything about addiction and had been too young and stupid to do any research on his own, instead relying on his partner, who happened to be just as young and stupid and bad at communication as he was. 

Aimee thrusts the open bottle of pinot noir into his hands and flicks her manicured finger at the cardigan.

“Okay, you know I have to address the grandpa cardigan in the room, right?” She takes a swig of her chardonnay, leaving half of her fuchsia lipstick on the bottle. “Let me guess. That is your _boyfriend’s_ sweater and you’ve been living in it since he left.”

Nick shrugs, taking his own swig of wine. It’s no one’s business but his own if he hasn’t taken the cardigan off in 36 hours, foregoing his planned trips to the gym to sulk on his couch.

“Oh, you are disgusting,” she says, more delighted than disgusted going by the grin on her face. “Alright, listen, I’ll time you. You can gush for two minutes, then we’re going to watch _Bridesmaids_ and pretend Ian and Niall don’t exist and it’s just us, back in the West Village apartment like the old days. Okay?”

She sets down the wine bottle and actually starts a timer on her iPhone, all before Nick has a chance to get a word in edgewise. Although now he has time to. Two minutes anyway.

“He calls me baby,” he confesses, covering his face with his hands. He peeks through his fingers, his voice is muffled, as he continues, “And I like it.”

Aimee gasps, clapping a hand over her mouth as her eyebrows shoot up to her bright orange hairline. She points frantically at the display on her phone as his time runs out, but he can’t think under this kind of pressure and that’s a big enough bomb for someone emotionally stunted like himself to drop. 

“Grim,” she exhales, her eyes wide. “He calls you _baby._ And you _like_ it.”

“I know,” Nick wails, hanging his head. “Who even am I?” 

The shrill alarm causes both of them to jump and Aimee scrambles to silence it.

“I… can’t,” Aimee says, her Kristen Wiig impression spot on. “Okay, chop-chop, Grimshaw, on with BFF night. Let’s go put the movie on, you haven’t made me watch it since January. That’s a record.”

They gather their wine and head into the living room. Aimee makes herself comfortable on the couch, kicking off her leopard print loafers, as Nick puts on the Blu-ray. As he settles next to her, he sees out of the corner of his eye how she’s taking in the throw pillows and blankets that are new since the last time she came over. The best defense is a good offense, or that’s what Nick’s dad used to say anyway, so he decides to head her off at the pass.

“Yes, they’re new,” he says, gesturing around the couch. “Are you happy? Niall brought over one of the blankets for our first Netflix and chill, he said he’d creeped my Insta and didn’t think my living room was going to be cozy enough. So I cozied it up a little, but it’s not a big deal. Okay?”

“Okay,” she says innocently before taking a sip of wine. “Whatever you say. Baby.”

And, well, that’s just one more regret he’s going to have to live with. 

Nick tries to watch the movie, he really does. It’s his favorite, he never gets sick of it, and they usually laugh until they cry as they recite the dialogue along with the characters. But Aimee keeps toying with the corner of a throw pillow on her lap and he can only distract himself with sips of wine for so long. 

Finally he cracks.

“You should see how many pillows Niall has on his bed, Aims,” he says, the words coming out in a rush as he turns to her. Maybe he should slow down on the wine. “I got there the other night and I swear to god, half the bed was covered in pillows. Half! He said he has a _Pinterest,_ can you believe that? An actual Pinterest. So he takes the pillows – not all of them obviously, but a lot of them! And he stacks them on the floor even though his apartment is tiny, did I tell you? Like, miniscule. But then he sleeps with six pillows! He called them the main ones! He sleeps with the six main ones, that’s a direct quote.”

He pauses to breathe, sitting back with a flourish. Aimee doesn’t respond, just waits for him to continue, somehow knowing he’s not finished. She always knows.

“Six main ones,” Nick says, more to himself. He shakes his head. “That’s so _cute._ Fuck, I like him so much.”

The wine is definitely going to his head, but he still notices Aimee look longingly to the screen before angling her body toward him on the couch.

“Okay, Grim,” she sighs, propping her chin in her hand. “Forget the movie. Tell me how much you like him.”

A literal tear comes to his eye.

“You are my best friend in the whole world,” he declares, putting a hand over his heart. “And tomorrow I’m going to buy you a present, I swear. Anything you want, what about that red and pink velvet Fendi bag you’ve been eyeing?”

“You’re going to forget,” she says, clinking her wine bottle against his. “But don’t worry, I’ll remind you. Go on, then, loverboy. Gush.”

“He’s just different, you know?” Nick sighs, pulling a throw blanket over his lap. “Even how we met – well, met again. How long have we lived in New York, Aims?”

“Four years,” she says flatly, examining her nails.

“Four years,” Nick exclaims, waving his half empty bottle of pinot. “And have you ever just randomly run into someone you know?”

“Not once,” she replies, gently guiding his arm to his lap. 

He wasn’t that close to spilling, honestly, but he doesn’t fight it as he continues, “Not once! So what are the odds that he and I would run into each other a coffee shop? Like… a billion to one. At _least._ That just… it means something, don’t you think?”

“I mean, not really,” she says honestly with a shrug. “But he is different, I know that. You want to know how I could tell?”

Nick sits up straight, squawking indignantly. “Um, _yes,_ how have you not told me already?” 

“Because you’ve been so busy in your honeymoon phase, I haven’t seen you,” she says, looking exasperated and a little like she’s thinking about kicking him. It’s happened before. “Anyway, ever since I’ve known you, when you like someone, you get all weird and avoid them. It’s pathological. But you never even tried to avoid Niall, you always texted him back and stuff. You brought him to _brunch,_ Grim. That’s, like, major for you.”

He nods primly at the acknowledgement. It _was_ major for him.

“It’s just easy with him,” he says, tracing a finger over the Skinnygirl logo on the label of his wine. He loves that they still sacrifice their taste buds for the joke of buying it after all these years. “He’s so easy going, he can laugh things off, but he’s not, like, a pushover. Like one time, I tried to order for him at a restaurant and he was so smooth about interrupting and ordering himself. He didn’t make me feel like an asshole, you know? I don’t think the server even noticed. It wasn’t a big deal or a fight or anything like it would have been with–”

“Louis,” Aimee finishes, tilting her head and watching him carefully. She’s the only one who really knows what a toll that relationship had taken on him. And not just the breakup, but how hard it had been for Nick to always feel like a consolation prize, some kind of runner up. Second best. Story of his fucking life. 

Until recently.

“I think I’m falling in love with him,” Nick says quietly, unable to meet her eyes. “Not like before. Like for real this time. The real thing.”

He forces himself to look up and he can tell from Aimee’s eyes, brilliantly blue and framed by jet black mascara and perfectly winged eyeliner, that she knows how hard this is for him to open up about, even with wine helping him along.

“Go on, then,” she says with a gentle nudge to his shoulder.

“Go on, then what?”

“Go on, then,” she repeats, grinning. “Give me the speech, the rom com one. The list of everything you love about him. I know you’re dying to.”

Nick buries his face in his hands. It can be a blessing and a curse to have a best friend who knows you so well. Because the thing is, he does want to, he wants to be cheesy and embarrassing and list everything he loves about Niall. 

Well, if she insists.

“Okay, fine,” he shouts, forgetting how close they’re sitting. He looks around for his wine bottle, not that he really needs more, and finds it propped against his leg. “Fine! I love that he gives everyone nicknames! Like Matt Fincham down at the station, now we all call him Finchy without thinking twice about it, all because Niall met him once for five minutes. It’s so dumb and cute and sometimes it makes me think of my dad and how he accidentally coined nicknames for half of our friends.”

“Oh my god,” Aimee laughs, smacking his leg. “That’s right! Good old Pete. We’ve been calling Pixie ‘Pepsi’ for so long that sometimes I forget that’s where it came from.”

“An he always wears patterned socks,” Nick continues, tapping Aimee on the knee to make sure she’s listening. Now that he’s started, he’s not about to stop. “Every day! I don’t think he even owns plain ones. And he doesn’t let me take myself too seriously.”

“That’s important,” Aimee nods, rolling with the vacillating list gracefully. “You do get a big head.”

“I do,” Nick exclaims. “And he doesn’t even mind! Oh my god, Aimee, he cares, like, so much about things. He cares about the people in AA, he lets them call him. On the phone! And he cares about his friends, and his work, and dogs, he loves dogs. And politics! He reads the news, Aimee. The _news.”_

“As well he should,” Aimee mutters under her breath before tipping back the last of her wine. “Did you hear that Kavanaugh scumbag–”

“No, but I bet you that Niall did,” Nick interrupts. He would, he would bet her a crisp hundred dollar bill right this minute that Niall’s already ranted about whatever thing the Supreme Court’s done now that’s got her riled up. “He cooks, did you know that? He took actual lessons, years ago. He came over and made me dinner one night and it was so romantic and I sit down and there’s this beautiful table set and candles and everything. And he didn’t season the chicken. Nothing, not a thing, no salt, no pepper. Not even parsley. And I _ate it anyway.”_

He shudders at the memory. Good mashed potatoes, though. And a good makeout on the couch after dinner, too.

“Did I tell you he loves dogs?” he asks eagerly, not bothering to wait for an answer. “He always stops on the street to pet them and he calls them all ‘buddy.’ And I asked him, ‘if you get a dog, are you just going to name him Buddy?’ And he pulled out his phone and showed me a list of dog names. He just adds one any time he thinks of a new one! And one of the names was Buddy! But with an ‘ie,’ B-u-d-d-i-e. What a psychopath.” 

Nick shakes his fondly. 

“He gets so excited about things. He makes me get excited about things. He wears his heart on his sleeve. He’s…” Nick chokes up a little, and Aimee pats his arm sympathetically as she steals his bottle of wine. Whatever, Nick’s already going to be hungover tomorrow. He takes a breath before continuing, “He’s been through so much, you know? And he hasn’t let it break him or make him bitter. He’s the strongest person I know, but he still lets himself be vulnerable with me.”

“That’s what strength is, Grim,” Aimee says softly, resting her hand on his shoulder. “Being able to be vulnerable.”

“He makes me feel like I can do anything,” Nick says, dropping his voice as though someone might overhear them. “Like I can, I don’t know… touch the sky or something.”

She coos, poking his cheek, before sitting back with his wine bottle and a smirk.

“And how’s the sex?”

To Nick’s dismay, he blushes furiously. One more thing that’s different this time, he’s usually not shy at all discussing sex with friends and swapping stories.

“It’s good,” he starts, toying with the fringed edge of the throw blanket on his lap. “It’s good. But, um… we’re kind of taking things slow?”

“Slow?” Aimee repeats, like Nick is speaking a different language or something. She wrinkles her brow. “Listen, I love you and I mean no offense when I say this, but… slow? You?”

Nick stiffens, very much taking offense. “What is that supposed to mean?”

“That means…” Aimee gestures vaguely toward him. “I’m sorry! I’m sorry, I just didn’t think slow was in your vocabulary. I’m not trying to slut shame you or anything, but you _are_ the one who once took a guy to Starbucks the next morning just so you could learn his name from the cup.”

“I did do that, didn’t I?” Nick laughs, scrubbing a hand over his face. “Okay, so, taking it slow. This is, like, best friend cone of silence, right?”

She nods, rolling her eyes that he even asked.

“So the thing is,” Nick starts, choosing his words carefully. It’s not his story he’s about to tell, after all. “Okay, so Niall was in the closet for a long time. His stepdad sounds like a total asshole, really homophobic, and then it turned out that his mom was too. Or she just cared more about the stepdad than him, I’m not sure.”

Aimee clucks her tongue and Nick feels a surge of pride for his best friend and her mama bear instincts.

“So when he got to college, he partied a lot,” Nick continues. “But like, no moderation, he was always drinking to the point of blacking out. And since he could finally hook up with guys, he did. No relationships, just casual stuff, one-night stands. Which, I know, doesn’t seem like a big deal for college. But it left him feeling kind of empty, because that wasn’t what he actually wanted. Deep down, he wanted an emotional connection, ’cause that’s what he was missing. Like not having people he could confide in, always having to pretend for his family and everyone back home.”

“God, poor thing,” Aimee says sympathetically. “He’s always so upbeat, you’d never guess that about him.”

“I know, right?” Nick blows out a breath. “So he does all this work in his recovery, you know, to be self aware about that kind of thing, not just triggers but the flip side, like what’s good for him, what he wants. And so he said, he’s not into something casual and he doesn’t want to move fast, because it’s not healthy for him. He needs the balance of, like, emotional and physical intimacy. That’s what he wants. So, we’re, um, taking it kind of slow.”

Aimee nods, looking mildly impressed. “He is so good for you, Grim. You sound so emotionally intelligent right now.”

He rolls his eyes and reaches behind him for a throw pillow to toss in her face, but she catches his hand and squeezes it.

“Okay, so, slow,” she says, tapping her chin with her finger. “Define slow for me.”

“Slow means… oh, fuck off, what do you think it means? Slow, like, slow!” Nick steals the bottle of wine back and takes the last sip. “It means, like, we only kissed at first and then worked our way up to–”

“Jobs, hand and blow?” Aimee guesses, humming when Nick nods. “And you’re, like, okay with that? Even after a few months now? Honestly.”

“I am okay with that,” Nick answers honestly. Despite his earlier offense, he’s surprised by it, too; he knows taking it this slow would have scared him off in the past. Or if it was someone other than Niall. “It’s kind of nice, actually? I’ve never had that, like, anticipation. The build, you know? And kissing! Like, kissing just for kissing’s sake? Aimee, kissing is amazing.”

“Is it, I didn’t know,” Aimee says dryly, standing up. “Hang on, you need water and I need another drink. Be right back.”

Left to his own devices, Nick suddenly remembers he has a phone and fumbles for it in his pocket. He has a new text from Niall, and he takes a moment’s pause for the realization that Niall had been thinking of him at the same time as when Nick had been gushing about him. 

**_Send me a selfie, baby before I forget what you look like ! Miss you_ **

Before Nick’s sense of self preservation can kick in, he snaps a photo of himself in the gray cardigan, his face flushed from wine and happiness, grinning toothily. He blames the red heart emoji at the end of Niall’s text for his actions as he hits send, but then he gets a selfie in return and promptly melts against the cushions. He’s still tracing his finger over the image of Niall on the screen when Aimee walks back into the room. Nick can’t help it, it’s a good photo. Niall is outside somewhere, maybe there’s a deck at their Airbnb or something, his pale skin warmed by the glow of the sunset. A slight breeze ripples his hair as he smiles into the camera, looking carefree. Happy. 

“Disgusting,” Aimee declares, shoving a glass of water into his hand. “Here, drink up.”

Nick obediently sips the water, eyes on his phone. 

“He is hot, in his own way,” Aimee remarks, clinking her second bottle of wine against his glass after he lowers it. “So, like, all-American, you know? He’s like… so vanilla, it’s kinky.” 

Nick chokes on his next sip of water, spluttering as Aimee thumps his back. When he catches his breath, he looks over at her with an innocent smile.

“You’d be surprised,” he says mildly, bracing himself for the slap on the arm that he fully expected. 

“Nicholas Peter Grimshaw,” Aimee exclaims, her eyes wide. “What does _that_ mean?”

“He kind of likes to…” Nick drags it out partly to torture her, but partly to think of the right words for what they do through the haze of cheap wine. “Take charge a little.”

Aimee sits back, mouthing ‘take charge a little,’ to herself, and Nick preens at the ability to shock her. Then he starts to second guess himself. It’s not like Niall’s tied him up or spanked him or anything. 

Yet. 

“It’s not like a thing,” he says apologetically, reaching over and patting her hand. “But it’s kind of a thing. It could definitely be a thing.”

“Give me one example,” she pleads, holding her hands together like the prayer emoji. Oh, like a person praying. Duh. Belatedly Nick realizes he should have sent a red heart emoji back to Niall. Before he has time to pick up his phone and unlock it, she shakes his shoulder. “Please, Grim. I’ve been such a good friend to you. Remember the time you got locked out in your underwear?”

“No, no, I do not,” Nick lies, crossing his arms over his chest. He startles as water from his glass splashes on his chest. Oh, right, his glass. Aimee gently takes it from him and sets it on the table, and Nick relents. She is a good friend. “He just kind of likes telling me what to do a little bit. Like he told me to straddle him and come on his tummy the other day, like told me to, like an instruction, and I almost spontaneously combusted, it was so hot.”

Aimee sits back, blinking slowly as she absorbs the information. 

“You should see his ass, Aims,” Nick muses, thinking of the small but perfectly formed peachy cheeks that haunt his dreams. “Wait, no, you shouldn’t, that’s for me.”

“Like I want to see his pale ass,” Aimee retorts, shuddering as Nick gasps indignantly.

“Excuse me, _Aimee–”_

“Keep his scrawny ass to yourself, Nicholas! No one wants to see that!”

“Wrong! You’re so wrong! I want to see it!” Nick tries to leap to his feet, but gets tangled in his blanket and lands back on the couch with a huff. “His ass is perfect, thank you very much. It’s not like ‘ew, pale,’ it’s like… porcelain. And you can’t even say that anyway, it’s been _winter_ almost this whole time, what do you expect? For him to spray tan his ass?”

Aimee collapses into giggles at that, but Nick isn’t finished.

“And he’s not scrawny, clearly you haven’t been looking – which is good! His ass is not _for you!_ But it’s not _scrawny._ It’s… pert. It’s cute. I’m going to bite it. Hang on, I’m going to text him that.” 

As Aimee wrestles his phone away from him, Nick registers somewhere in the back of his mind that she really is a good friend. And when she makes him finish his glass of water and then a second one, he vows to remember the red and pink velvet Fendi bag he’d promised her on his own. 

The downside to Nick’s head clearing after the forced hydration is that the doubt starts to creep in. It always does. He rests his head against the back of the couch and sighs at himself.

“Why so glum, sugar plum?” Aimee asks, poking his side. “We’ve been talking about how great things are going with your boyfriend for the last hour, what do you have to pout about?”

“That’s the problem,” Nick wails, raking his hands through his hair. “It’s going so great and I’m afraid I’m going to fuck it up. And then...”

“And then, what, Grim?” Aimee asks, moving his hand so she can rearrange his hair for him. 

“And then it’s just going to hurt that much more,” Nick explains, turning his head to face her. “Because everything is so great and I like him so much, it’s just… It’s really going to hurt if I fuck things up. It’s scary.”

“Why do you think you’re going to fuck it up?” Aimee asks, scratching lightly at his scalp like he’s a cat. It’s kind of nice, actually. “And don’t say because of Louis, that was a hundred years ago, you’re not young and stupid anymore. Well, not as young and stupid.”

“I’m _young,”_ Nick says witheringly, pointing to his forehead. “Don’t need Botox yet, do I?”

“Fine, you’re young,” Aimee snaps before downing about a quarter of her wine bottle. She wipes her mouth and mutters, “And fucking stupid.”

This is the point when Nick is used to bottling up his fears and bickering about who’s stupider, but he makes himself take a deep breath, like they teach him in the yoga classes that Niall takes him to. If he’s honest with himself, he’d known their night would end up here. Aimee has always been the Miranda to his Carrie and he needs her right now. Niall is no Big, he’s too blessedly uncomplicated for that, but this is big stuff.

“It’s the emotional intimacy,” Nick says quietly, forcing himself to sit still and feel raw and vulnerable and not get up and run away. “Aimee, I’m so bad at it. I never… we didn’t talk about things like feelings in my family. I don’t know how. And that’s the important part to him. Not going out, not gifts. Not sex. I don’t know if I can do it.”

“Nick, you’re doing it right now,” Aimee says, scooting closer to him on the couch. “I know it’s not easy, but you’re doing so well.”

“It’s not easy,” Nick agrees, blinking away tears. “It’s hard, it’s so fucking hard. It makes me, like, angry with Pete and Eileen. Like, why are we like this? We didn’t have to be like this.”

Aimee hums and scratches at his scalp again, waiting for him to continue.

“Do you remember that woman from the funeral?” Nick asks, waving a hand over his head. “With the hat thing?”

“The funeral was in the South, hon,” Aimee says patiently. “There were a lot of hats, you’ll have to be more specific.”

“You know, the one with the feathers,” Nick says, waving his hand again. “In back, the feathers.”

“Oh! Yes! I do remember,” Aimee says triumphantly. “Henry and I had to save you, she had you cornered by the buffet for so long. What was she even talking to you about? You never said.”

“She went to our old church,” Nick explains, remembering the woman’s kind face but completely forgetting her name. “Not where the service was, we went to another church across town until I was in high school. And she was saying, like, she was so sorry for our loss and she always thought so highly of my father. You know, the same thing as everyone else. But then she said something about good for him taking a stand when we stopped going to that old church, and I had no idea what she meant.

“So I ask my mom later, after everyone left and we were at home, like what was this woman talking about? And she said that people had started to talk about me there, like… basically, everyone knew I was gay, I could never hide it and the older I got, the more obvious it was, right? So people started talking and apparently someone said something so rude to my dad about me that he told my mom we were never going back there.”

“Nick,” Aimee breathes, squeezing his shoulder. “Wow.” 

“I know,” Nick replies, rubbing his eyes. “I know. I couldn’t believe it. And I asked Eileen why they never told me, and you know what she said? She said something like why would we talk about something ugly like that.” 

“That does sound like Eileen,” Aimee remarks. She takes a sip of wine and shakes her head, repeating, “Something ugly.”

“I don’t even appreciate it as much as I should,” Nick confesses, twisting his hands in his lap. “Even after hearing what Niall went through, and his parents actually kicked him out. But all I can think about is how we didn’t talk about it. We never talked about things that mattered, just fucking college basketball and cocktail parties and the country club, bullshit like that. And I’m just like them. _Just like them._ I can talk to you about brunch all day, the best places to go, what to order on each menu, how long in advance you need to make a reservation, how to achieve the perfect ratio of orange juice to champagne in mimosas. But, like, feelings? Stuff beyond the surface? I don’t know if I can do that stuff.”

“You don’t give yourself enough credit,” Aimee says matter of factly, sitting up straighter now that she’s getting to use her Miranda pep talk skills. “I swear, sometimes it’s like you see yourself through a funhouse mirror. What do you think you’ve been doing all night?”

“Um...” Nick looks around the room. “Drinking?”

“Talking about your feelings, idiot,” she says, smacking him lightly on the back of the head. “You’ve been nothing but emotionally intimate since I got here.”

“It’s different with you,” Nick sighs, rubbing the back of his head. “I’ve known you for, like, forever. You’re stuck with me.”

“For fuck’s sake, Nicholas,” Aimee snaps. She takes a long pull of wine before rubbing her temples. “You say you’re scared you don’t know how to do this, but you do. Maybe you didn’t used to, maybe you used to be bad at it, but in case you haven’t noticed, you’ve built up a whole circle of friends who dropped everything and flew down to North Carolina to be by your side when your dad died. I wore pantyhose for you, and I know Gillian did too. And when we got back, we all took turns coming over and making sure you were eating for weeks. Alexa did your fucking laundry. She doesn’t even do her own laundry. Do you think someone who can’t do emotional intimacy has friends like that? If you kept everyone at surface level, no one would have been there for you, it would have been easier to drop you and move on, wouldn’t it? If our friendships were based on brunch?”

“No,” Nick whispers. Everything she’s saying makes sense. Aimee’s always been annoyingly logical. “I do know a lot about brunch, though.” 

“You do,” she nods, “but not nearly enough to keep you around just for that, and you know it.”

“So, what do I do? I just…”

“Listen,” Aimee says, tugging his shoulders until he’s facing her. “Niall is good at letting you know where you stand, right? He doesn’t play games, he’s up front. All you can do is try your best to do the same for him. If you want to call him ‘baby,’ let yourself call him ‘baby.’ If you want to see him, text him to make plans. If you get that gooey rush of feeling like you like him so much, just tell him. It’s already different with him, right? You didn’t run when you realized you like him. And the more you try, the easier it will get. I promise. And Nick?” 

“Yeah?” Nick asks, wiping away a stray tear. 

“He deserves it,” she says gently but with unflinching eye contact. “But so do you. I bet you make him feel like he can touch the sky, too, so just… reach for the stars, okay?”

“Okay,” Nick nods, pausing when her words really hit him. “Wait, reach–”

“Just go with it,” she interrupts, waving a hand at him. “It sounded better in my head. But you know what I mean, just try. That’s what you can do.”

“Yeah,” Nick says, nodding again and starting to feel more confident. “Yeah, okay. Try.”

She holds her wine bottle up in a silent toast to him before taking another long pull. God knows she earned it. Nick shakes his head ruefully.

“I have, like, no tolerance anymore,” he whines, pointing to his water glass on the coffee table. “I got drunk so fast, Aims. I won’t be any fun anymore.”

“Yeah, but I think I prefer you this way,” Aimee says, picking up the remote and selecting play from the Blu-ray menu displayed on the TV screen.

“What way?”

“Happy.”

**III.**

Nick is stuck behind a pair of slow walkers in the East Village.

Trying not to let his frustration get the best of him, Nick takes a few deep breaths in and out as he basically nips at their heels. At least they’re not obnoxiously loud tourists or anything, just tiny senior citizens who are obviously a couple what with the way they keep their heads bent together to chat. The flow of the crowd walking toward him is making it impossible to weave around them, and he can’t bring himself to push between them because the way they so clearly just don’t just give a fuck about their pace is oddly inspiring. Even if the dinner he’s bringing to Niall at work will get cold. 

Actually, fuck that. 

Nick spies an opening and takes it, ducking into the street for a moment and speeding around the couple on their right. He swears he can hear one of them cluck in disapproval, but he forges on, leaving the pair in his dust. Luckily the recording studio appears on the left just before he’s about to break into a sweat. Although remembering their first date that Nick hadn’t known was a date, maybe Niall wouldn’t have minded much. But it’s been a very long three days since Nick has seen his boyfriend and he’d prefer not to smell like a pig when he finally does. 

Ducking through the door, Nick waves at the receptionist who smiles brightly in return. Laura, he thinks. He should remember her name, he’s met her two or three times now. Niall would have remembered not only her name, but a random interesting fact about her that he could use to make small talk. If only Nick were as good a person as his boyfriend, he wouldn’t be awkwardly hovering by the chairs and watching from afar as Maybe Laura calls Niall to come meet him in the lobby. 

A watched door never… opens, Nick supposes, so he stares at his feet while he waits, scuffing his toe against the ugly gray carpet. He’d worn his Converse today, old and a bit worn but no holes, god forbid, wanting to look good but not too put together, like he was trying to impress. Not that he’ll fool Niall, he’ll take one look at Nick and know how eager he is to see him. Taking a deep, calming breath, Nick reminds himself of Aimee’s advice to just _try_ and wonders if he should have worn his nice new Gucci sneakers instead.

“Baby!”

Nick’s head snaps up at the joyous term of endearment and he sees the human embodiment of sunshine that is his boyfriend standing at the door behind reception, grinning at him. The anxiety ebbs out of Nick’s body as he takes in Work Niall: The slim black pants and plain white t-shirt topped with a sexier-than-it-has-any-right-to-be black cardigan with the buttons done up. Fuck. The real kicker, though, is the simple pair of eyeglasses; Nick’s not sure how he’s going to get through dinner without devouring Niall instead.

“Come on,” Niall laughs, beckoning Nick with his hand. “Get over here, lemme give you a smooch! Laura here doesn’t mind, do you, Laura?”

Heat rushes to Nick’s cheeks as he complies, striding across the lobby and throwing an apologetic smile to Laura before stepping into Niall’s space to receive his smooch. After three very long days, he thinks he earned it, even if they do have an audience.

“Hiya,” he says quietly, closing his eyes for a moment as he takes in the heady scent of Niall’s cologne now that he’s close enough. 

God, if they’re ever separated for longer than another three days, Nick might have to break down and buy a bottle, spritz the fragrance on his (one main) pillow. The thick gray cardigan he’d borrowed had been every bit as cozy as Nick imagined, but it had basically lost Niall’s scent after the first day, although that didn’t stop Nick from wearing it all the way up through last night. He’s not sure he’s actually going to give it back.

“Hiya,” Niall parrots back, his voice low and just for Nick. He leans in and catches Nick’s upper lip in a kiss, causing Nick to inhale and part his lips to return the kiss. 

The smooch turns a little more heated than might be considered appropriate for the workplace, but they keep it short, trailing off with a couple of quick pecks before pulling apart completely. 

“Oh my god!” Laura squeals, clapping her hands together. “You guys are so cute together! Nick, you know he talks about you _all_ the time, it’s so cute.”

“Oh, really?” Nick asks, lifting his brows at Niall.

“Yeah, yeah,” Niall says, rolling his eyes but otherwise looking completely at ease at his coworker’s teasing. “Thanks, Laura. Come on, baby, I’ll take you back.”

Nick waves a hand vaguely in the direction of the reception desk, following Niall down the hallway. The cardigan isn’t long enough to obscure the swell of Niall’s ass, so Nick watches it sway as Niall leads him into a studio.

Christ, he’d missed him.

“Hey guys,” Niall says as they walk in, greeting a couple of coworkers huddled over a soundboard. “This is my boyfriend, Nick. Nick, that’s Mully messing with my levels and that’s Gerry over there letting him.”

They both smile and wave, but turn immediately back to their work.

“Sorry,” Niall says, turning back to Nick. “I thought we’d be closer to done by the time you got here, but everything’s fucked between this deadline getting pushed up and–”

“Oh, no, don’t worry about it,” Nick says, looking around. “I can just camp out on the couch while you finish up, is that okay?”

“Yeah,” Niall replies with a small, private small. “Yeah, if you can stick around and wait for me, I’d love that. I really wanted to see you tonight.”

“Yeah, um…” Nick swallows. 

_Try._ That’s all he can do. 

“I don’t mind,” he continues, meeting Niall’s kind eyes. “Really. I really wanted to see you, too.”

Niall’s stomach growls, breaking the moment before Nick is even tempted to deflect, and they both laugh. 

“Here,” Nick says, opening the bag that contains their dinner. “I got you that disgusting burger you love, the one with the onion rings on it, and fries.”

“No shake?” Niall says, looking up from the bag with a slight pout as Nick hands him his food.

“Excuse me,” Nick says haughtily, shimmying his hips. “I’ve got the shake to go along with those fries, thank you very much.”

“Oh my god, I missed you,” Niall laughs, kissing Nick’s cheek and then gesturing toward the couch. “There you go, all yours while we finish up. Water in the mini fridge there, if you want it.”

Nick sets up camp on the brown leather couch against the wall, digging into the salad he’d bought for himself after skipping the gym for three days straight and sneakily watching Niall at work. He argues with Mully and Gerry between bites, and it’s weirdly sexy. Niall cares so much about his work and he’s so confident – he doesn’t back down when he has an opinion, making sure they talk through every point until they come to a consensus even though it must be taking them longer to get whatever they’re working on mixed or mastered. 

Not to mention the fact that the amount of food Niall can fit into his mouth is bordering on obscene. Nick may have to stop watching before he sports a semi.

With that in mind, he busies himself with his salad, not at all sad that he didn’t order a burger for himself. He certainly doesn’t wish he were scarfing down the one that comes with avocado on it. Once he’s done eating, he entertains himself with Instagram for a long while, outlasting both of Niall’s coworkers, who give him a bro-y nod and wave as they head out. Niall is still bent over the soundboard, and Nick doesn’t want to interrupt him, so he just watches quietly as Niall mutters to himself, jotting notes on a pad and fiddling with knobs and buttons.

He’s beautiful like this, is the thing. 

It’s not just the way the soft glow from floor lamps warms his pale skin, or the way the cardigan clings to his lithe frame. And it’s not the perfect amount of stubble surrounding the curve of his pink lips. It’s not even the sliver of midriff exposed when he stretches his arms above his head.

Something about the look of concentration on Niall’s face as he works makes Nick sure that even if they weren’t dating, Niall is someone Nick would want to know. Someone passionate and determined. Someone who doesn’t give up. Someone with character.

Nick’s never been good at pinpointing the moment when things change. The moment he went from vaguely knowing he was different somehow than the other boys to knowing he like liked boys. The moment he knew his dad was never going to spend time with him the way he did with Andy. The moment he knew he was never going to be the one for Louis, or the moment he made peace with it. The moment he knew he was a New Yorker. The moment the cloud started to lift and he could start functioning through his grief again. It always hits him later, sometimes after months, that things are not how they used to be.

But this moment, the one between falling in love and being in love, Nick is fully present for as Niall scratches at his notepad and rubs a finger against his lower lip, lost in his work. 

Nick’s thought about it, of course, worried himself to distraction expecting fear to take over, ice water in his veins. Panic. As it turns out, Nick is a very stupid man, because it’s nothing like that, nothing like what he expected. 

He feels calm. Happy. Peaceful, even. It’s like the whole world is one big cozy gray cardigan wrapped around him, keeping him safe. Because he knows Niall, and Niall isn’t going to hurt him. Niall will be kind to Nick, be patient with him, take care of him, treat him with respect. Protect him if he has to, even if it’s from Nick himself. 

And even if he doesn’t yet, someday Niall is going to love him back.

Secure in the new-found knowledge that they’re going to be okay, that he’s going to be okay, Nick turns his phone over in his hands as he thinks about how to show Niall how he feels. Because he’s not sure if he’s ready to tell him yet. He wants to try like he’d promised Aimee, but one step at a time, after all. He’s already shown him with food, and just by being here, but there must be something else, some small gesture that Niall will understand the significance of. Nick almost drops his phone and it’s not until he leans forward and catches it that inspiration strikes.

His phone, of course.

As Niall shuffles papers, Nick stealthily does a Google search, reciting the steps of his surprise silently in his head until he’s sure he’ll remember them. He locks his phone and pockets it just as Niall plops down on the couch next to him with a sigh.

“Long day?” Nick asks, angling his body toward Niall on the couch.

“Yeah,” Niall answers, taking off his glasses and rubbing his eyes before meeting Nick’s gaze. “Frustrating. Just seemed like everything that could go wrong did, you know? When all I wanted was to see you.”

Nick hums sympathetically as Niall shakes his head.

“And now here I am, wasting time with you by complaining, I’m sorry.”

“No! Don’t apologize,” Nick says, combing his fingers through Niall’s soft hair. “I like hearing about your day, even if it wasn’t good. And god knows I love complaining, so it’s only fair.”

“I just…” Niall pauses, clearly searching for the right words. “I don’t like sweating the small stuff, you know? That used to be easier, back when I was getting sober. It was like you’re so grateful to be alive, to be healthy, you have bigger things to worry about, so who cares if the hot water runs out, you know? And now I care more about that petty stuff, like the coffee machine breaking today.”

Part of Nick wants to ask about the coffee machine, keep the conversation light, keep it about petty stuff. But the bigger part of him actually wants to tell Niall about the doubt that’s creeping in, wants to hear what Niall would say about it.

“I must seem like a silly person to you,” Nick says, trying to sound casual, like it wouldn’t bother him if it were true, but the words come out barely above a whisper. “I’m so melodramatic, that small petty stuff is all I care about.”

“Hey,” Niall says, taking Nick’s hand and tugging it until he looks up. “You know that’s not true, right? You care about a lot of big, important things. Your friends, your family. Me.”

Niall waggles his brows, trying to get a smile out of Nick. He shakes his head. It works. It always does.

“And listen to me, baby,” Niall says gently, waiting for Nick to make eye contact again. “I know you didn’t buy a table for that Trevor Project gala just because it was fun or to be seen or whatever. You don’t let many people in on it, but you have the biggest heart. And you’re like me, you care so much about your work. Finchy wouldn’t survive down at the station without you.” 

“Well, that’s true,” Nick sniffs, starting to feel better. He should have known, of course Niall would see the best in him. 

“But you also care about small things,” Niall continues, squeezing his hand. “And I love that about you. You can make a story about something like a coffee machine breaking into a whole saga, have me in stitches. And it’s so cute when you obsess over who sits next to who at yoga, or give me ten years’ worth of backstory for one _Real Housewives_ fight.”

That last comment startles a laugh out of Nick, but tears form in his eyes at the realization that Niall really does see him. Not just the best of him, but all of him. Somewhere along the way, without consciously deciding to, Nick has subjected himself to the mortifying ordeal of being known – and Niall likes what he knows, even loves it. When exactly did Nick get so fucking lucky?

“I really fucking missed you,” Nick says, squeezing Niall’s hand and holding it against his chest. “I was at loose ends all weekend without you.”

“Yeah?” Niall asks, his face an endearing mix of surprised and pleased. “Lost without me, huh?”

“Pretty much,” Nick admits. “Aimee came over and we were supposed to have, like, an old school best friends night, no boyfriend talk allowed, but I couldn’t be stopped, went on and on about you all night.”

“Aw, baby.” Niall rests his head against the back of the couch. “Was she mad?”

“Not really,” Nick answers, carding his hand through Niall’s hair again. It’s so soft, is the thing. “The Fendi clutch I bought her made up for it, I think. And she drank most of the wine, too.”

“Oh, yeah,” Niall laughs, his blue eyes sparkling. “Did you know your whole mouth was stained purple in the selfie you sent me that night?”

“What?” Nick exclaims, tempted to whip out his phone and check. “No! It was not.”

“Nah, not really,” Niall replies, holding his thumb and forefinger up an inch apart. “Just a little bit. I loved that photo, you looked so happy.”

“You looked good, too,” Nick says, scooting closer to Niall on the couch. “Was yours at the Airbnb? Did it have, like, a deck?”

“Yeah, it was awesome,” Niall says, looking tired but happy. “I got to be the grill master that night, and it was just warm enough to hang outside in the fresh air. We meant to do more, like hiking and stuff, but we ended up just sitting around mostly.”

“That’s the best kind of trip, though,” Nick remarks. “Don’t you think? That’s how you can tell you’re traveling with the right people, when all you really need is their company.”

“Exactly.” Niall raises his hand for a high five and Nick obliges before tangling their fingers together again. “See, you get it. Liam kept nagging us about how we should be doing more activities. I almost locked him in his room at one point. Then Harry and Louis brought out wedding invitations and made us do an assembly line, stuffing envelopes and addressing them, and I almost locked them out of the house. My hand still hurts from all the writing.”

“Oh, right,” Nick says, bracing himself for the familiar pang of loss. It doesn’t come, though. He just feels kind of… weird. That’s the best word to describe it, it’s just weird to talk about, not painful. “When is the blessed occasion?”

“June 5, 2021,” Niall says automatically, like he’s had to recite the information hundreds of times. He takes a long look at Nick. “Hey, it’s okay to feel weird about it, you know?”

“It is weird,” Nick says simply, shrugging. “But I’m happy for them.”

He can almost feel the remainder of the chip on his shoulder finally dissolve into nothing as he realizes that it’s the truth. Louis and Harry are a fact of life; he’d always known that they should end up together. Well, almost always. It was mainly just his pride keeping him in their way, and whatever issues they had between them to work out. 

“Do you remember the last time I saw you back then?” Nick asks, petting Niall’s hair. He wonders idly if Zayn gave him a new conditioner. “When you were his guard dog at the movies that time?”

“Oh, yeah,” Niall cackles. “Lou had to send me to concessions so you two could talk in peace.”

“He did,” Nick confirms, remembering how taken aback he was by the scrawny boy who’d been so willing to get in his face on Louis’ behalf. “You know I thought they were together then, right? Asked him where Harry was, couldn’t believe it when I heard Louis let him leave. Even then I knew it was just, like, cosmically wrong somehow that they weren’t together.”

“Selfishly, I’m glad for it,” Niall says softly. “Means you can be mine, it’s okay that I’m falling for you.”

“Me too,” Nick confesses, heart thumping in his chest. Is now the right time? 

Should he–

No. 

No, it’s too soon, it’s barely three months, he can’t…

But he does.

So he should.

Just _try._

“I want to be yours,” Nick whispers, “and I want you to be mine. Niall… baby...”

Nick’s hands start to shake and he wishes desperately that they would stop. God, he’s so nervous, he might throw up. Niall’s eyes widen and his mouth goes a bit slack, like he knows what’s coming. Maybe he does, it must be written all over Nick’s face.

“I love you.”

Niall’s breath hitches and Nick doesn’t wait for a response, cradling his jaw in his hand and leaning in to kiss him. It’s soft, and sweet. Everything. Like the feel of their lips brushing contains every sweet word he’s ever wanted to say to Niall, every promise he wants to make to him. And, as Niall parts his lips for him, every desire, every physical craving he’s felt for this man for the past few months spills forth when Nick slides his tongue in Niall’s mouth and swallows his moan as they clutch each other.

Niall gives as good as he gets, fucking his tongue in Nick’s mouth as Nick’s brain somehow manages to catalog the sensations of Niall’s stubble against his skin and his hands fisting Nick’s blouse. In another life, Nick might have worried about it wrinkling, but here and now Niall could rip it off him and he would happily skip home topless after this, after whatever Niall wants with him on this brown leather couch that Nick is starting to think of as theirs.

What Niall wants turns out to be crawling into Nick’s lap and straddling him without breaking the kiss. He fumbles with the buttons on Nick’s surely wrecked blouse as they kiss filthily, and Nick is tempted to tear it but he can’t quite drag his hands from where they’ve settled on Niall’s pert, peachy bum. He contents himself with gripping and squeezing the cheeks as he waits for whatever Niall is going to give him next. As he sucks on Niall’s tongue, though, Nick can’t help but think it’s a crime he hasn’t gotten to worship Niall’s ass properly yet, wondering if Niall is as into rimming as he is.

Niall drags his fingers through Nick’s chest hair once his shirt is finally open and Nick can’t help the gasp that escapes him when Niall tweaks his nipples. He’s been blessed with sensitive ones and the sensation goes straight to his cock, already plump and pressed against Niall’s ass. He thrusts up gently, moaning, so Niall knows the effect he has on him, always has on him. Nick can’t enough of him. Fuck, Nick _loves_ him. It hits him all over again how much as they pant in each other’s mouth, Niall grinding down in Nick’s lap.

Fuck.

All too soon, Niall pulls away and scrambles to stand up. Nick makes grabby hands for him, but Niall just grins crookedly at him as he walks backward to the door and flips the lock, his eyes still on Nick, and Nick might have to rethink who the sex god is in this relationship because this is the hottest thing he’s ever seen. Niall is the hottest thing he’s ever seen. Niall strides toward, all confident sex kitten as he undoes the buttons of his cardigan with a lot more patience than he’d shown for Nick’s blouse. When he reaches Nick, he shrugs off the sweater as he gracefully fall to his knees.

“No,” Nick says wildly, raking his fingers through his hair. Before Niall has a chance to misunderstand, he cries, “No, need you, need to get my mouth on you. Up, baby, up, up.”

Niall’s grin turns decidedly wicked.

“Lie down,” he instructs Nick, causing a fresh wave of desire to course through Nick’s body. “Jeans off, come on, be good for me, need to get my mouth on you, too, baby.”

Oh. Holy. Fuck.

Unfortunately, Nick has to tear his eyes away from Niall whipping off his t-shirt and pants as he hastily removes his own, almost forgetting about the Converse on his feet as he shoves down his jeans and briefs. Finally, _finally,_ he manages to get everything off and he lies back just in time for Niall to crawl on top of him. And this is what dreams are made of probably, Niall’s toned leg swinging over him as his dick bumps at Nick’s chin.

Nick parts his lips, lifting his head to swallow Niall down, eager to feel him slide down his throat. As he starts to bob in earnest, his own cock jumps, fully hard and wet at the tip. As much as Nick will enjoy it when Niall eventually wraps his lips around him – and he will enjoy it – he loves giving head. He’s never understood when people, Real Housewives mostly, joke about hating blow jobs and never giving them. Aside from knowing just how much Niall is getting off on it, getting off on him, by the feel of his hard length, confirmed by the choked-off moans above him, Nick loves the taste of his skin. The slide against his lips. Mouthing wetly at the head.

And it’s even better like this, with all of his senses surrounded by Niall. 

Nick bucks his hips at a particularly loud moan from Niall; if he were on his knees, he’d already be stroking himself, and hard. But he’s underneath a teasing Niall, who seems to have a sixth sense for exactly how much anticipation Nick can take. He withholds his lips as Nick redoubles his efforts. A whine low in Nick’s throat around Niall’s cock seems to be the signal that Niall was waiting for, and he starts stroking Nick at the base, maddeningly lightly. But Nick’s not willing to relinquish Niall’s cock from his mouth to beg, so he just takes it, takes whatever Niall determines to give him as Nick swirls his tongue around him, earning a taste of precome.

After a minute of idle stroking, Niall laps at the head of Nick’s dripping cock, swallowing precome before taking him into his mouth. Nick moans wildly around Niall, thrusting his hips as Niall rolls with the movements, never giving him the satisfaction of bucking into his throat. Everything is a blur of heat and pleasure and salt as Nick climbs higher and higher toward the brink, his mind feverish with the need to come. He grips Niall’s hips, trying to draw him closer, wanting to give him everything. 

In the end, they come almost at the same time, Niall pulling off to sputter curses as he comes down Nick’s throat and Nick spurting all over Niall’s parted lips and chin. They stay there, Niall hovering over Nick as they pant, trying to catch their breath. Niall recovers first, pressing a messy kiss to Nick’s spent cock before climbing off of him, wiping his mouth with the back of his hand. It takes enormous effort for Nick to turn his head to watch Niall cross the room and grab a box of tissues. He bends down at the mini fridge to get a bottle of water and Nick admires his ass. 

“Come on, baby,” Niall coaxes him, helping Nick to a sitting position. “Here you go, have some water.”

Nick ignores the bottle of water that Niall is holding out, leaning forward to pull Niall closer and lick at his chin. Niall laughs, letting Nick clean up some of the come before gently pushing at his shoulder.

“Thank you, baby,” he says, his eyes full of mirth. “But you were practically deepthroating, so good for me, come on, I know you need some water, drink up.”

And Nick knows he would croak if he tried to speak, so he accepts the proffered water, draining half of it in one go. Niall stays crouched before him, watching Nick drink as he cleans off his face with a tissue and then dabs at Nick’s cock, causing him to shiver. His pink lips are gorgeous and puffy and Nick doesn’t bother trying to stop himself from reaching a finger out to trace them. 

He smiles sheepishly after he finishes the water. “Thank you. I mean, for the water, but–”

“No, thank _you,”_ Niall interrupts, suddenly crushing Nick’s lips with a kiss. He pulls back just far enough to utter against Nick’s lips, “I love you, too.”

Warmth spreads through Nick’s chest as Niall kisses him again, gently this time, less frantic. 

“I love you,” Niall whispers. “I love you, I love you, I love you.”

Nick rests his forehead against Niall’s. He could listen to those three words on a loop for the rest of his life. And if he’s as lucky as he suspects he is, he might just have the chance to.

“I love you,” he says, catching Niall’s lips in another gentle kiss. “I really do.”

“I really do, too,” Niall says, drawing back. “Fuck, I missed you so much. I know it was only three days, but…”

“I know,” Nick nods, not needing to say anything else. They both know.

“I hate to break this moment,” Niall starts, looking around the room.

“But we should get dressed,” Nick finishes. He straightens the blouse he hadn’t quite realized he was still wearing, starting to button it. “Do you want to come back to mine? Might be more comfortable, anyway.”

“Yeah, baby,” Niall agrees, standing and starting to pick up his clothes. “Sounds like a plan.”

They dress quickly and gather their things, Nick lifting the strap of his bag over his shoulder and Niall putting on his backpack. As they do one last sweep of the room to make sure they’re not forgetting anything, Nick smirks.

“You know you’re going to think of this every time you look at that couch, right?”

“You better believe it.”

Niall smacks Nick’s ass on the way out, and they hold hands as the walk down the deserted hallway. Niall drops a manila folder in an inbox by someone’s closed office door, and then they’re free to leave. Since they’re the last ones there, Niall locks up on their way out, turning to Nick as he puts the office keys in his backpack. 

“I can’t believe I forgot,” he says, fishing something out of a pocket. “I got you something.”

“Yay!” Nick claps his hands, he loves presents. “What is it?”

“It’s not much,” Niall says, holding up something dangly. “But it made me think of you.”

Nick holds out his hands and Niall sets the present in them for him to examine. 

And the thing is, Nick grew up in a wealthy family. Someone back in the family line had made a fortune in tobacco, and moved onto tech before tobacco became unseemly. And one could call the Grimshaws materialistic if one were so inclined. (And many have, Nick included.) So Nick’s gotten a lot of expensive gifts in his time. Extravagant things that never quite made up for the lack of emotional connection in his family, but things Nick loved all the same. The gift in his hands had probably cost Niall less than $5 in some Berkshires gift shop. Maybe even at the bus station. Because it’s a simple keychain, with a few glittery blue stars dangling from it.

It’s the best present Nick has ever received. 

“I love it,” he breathes, holding it up and admiring the it in the moonlight. He bites his lip. “Don’t laugh, but–”

“Never,” Niall says, ducking in for a quick kiss. “Thank fuck you like it, I was kind of nervous, I know it’s just a cheap thing–”

“No, I love it,” Nick says seriously, needing Niall to understand. “I, um… when I was going on and on about you to Aimee, I said something like you make me feel like I can touch the sky, and you come home and you give me stars. I just, fuck, sorry, I don’t know–”

“I love you,” Niall says, reaching out to stroke Nick’s cheek. “I’m always going to give you the stars. Wait, that–”

“Sounded better in your head?” Nick guesses, clutching his keychain to his chest as Niall nods. “No, it sounded perfect to me.”

“Kiss,” Niall demands, pursing his lips. Nick happily obliges before pulling back with a smug smile.

“Now, come on, baby,” he says, throwing an arm around Niall’s shoulder. “It’s a five-minute walk to Broadway-Lafayette Station, then we can catch the D train to my place.”

He tugs his boyfriend along, guiding him on the sidewalk since Niall’s eyes are on him, his eyebrows raised, instead of where they’re going. 

“Oh, you’ll catch the D train, alright,” Niall says eventually, looping his arm around Nick’s waist and falling into step. Then he mutters, almost to himself, “Taking the subway for me, can’t believe it.”

And as they walk down the empty street, stars shining down on them, Nick congratulates himself. He knew Niall would get the gesture. 

**Author's Note:**

> [ fic post!](https://disgruntledkittenface.tumblr.com/post/189440459902/its-just-easy-with-him-he-says-tracing-a)


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